


A National Treasure

by ali_aliska



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Waxes Poetic about Tony and His Behind, Bucky is a Lovable Disaster, Dorks in Love, Fluff, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Ode to Tony Stark’s Ass, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, The AU Where Everyone is Chill with Each Other, Tony in Leather Pants, Tony is Trying to Seduce Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 19:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19047007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ali_aliska/pseuds/ali_aliska
Summary: It shouldn't be this hard to seduce a man, Tony laments, but if he has to put on a pair of leather pants to get the job done, then so be it.And it works too. Eventually.(Or how Tony's glorious, leather-clad backside short-circuited Bucky's brain one fine Friday morning).





	A National Treasure

**Author's Note:**

> I have nothing to say for myself. A conversation that had nothing to do with Tony's behind somehow circled back to it anyway, the muses demanded I appropriately honor said behind, and so now here we are.

Bucky has seen a lot in his life - the good, the bad, the downright ugly, monsters and saints and everything that falls in between, all the strange facets of humanity’s flawed nature. He prides himself on the ability to take it all in stride these days, to be prepared for the unexpected, to brave the unknown and the unfamiliar with an unflappable stoicism. He’s a harder man for it, a little colder, a little rougher around the edges, but he thinks, after everything life has thrown his way, he can be ready for anything.

He _thinks_ , until he turns the corner, steps into the kitchen, and sees Tony wearing the tightest pair of leather pants invented by mankind, so tight they’re practically _painted_ onto an already glorious backside and those pants are now accentuating every square inch of the curves Bucky has had the most carnal of dreams about and this holy vision of leather is _moving_ because Tony is humming to himself, dancing and swaying while he pours an ungodly amount of maple syrup onto his pancakes.

Bucky trips, _over thin air_ , because there’s certainly nothing in his way on the perfectly flat, unobstructed floors of the hallway; he stumbles, bumps his right elbow against a corner, squeezes his eyes shut when the sharp pain lances through his whole arm—so much for that bone being _funny_ —and lets out the tiniest of whimpers as he cradles his aching elbow in his metal hand.

Sam, who’s been walking at his side this whole time, stops, and when Bucky opens his eyes, he sees Sam shaking his head slowly, sporting an expression so unimpressed, its only rival is the look Fury gives them on those frequent occasions they’re all being too—well, too _them_.

“I can’t be seen with you, man,” Sam deadpans, as if Bucky wasn’t _already_ hurting, and then leaves Bucky behind, waltzing into the kitchen like it’s nothing, like Tony Stark _isn’t_ wearing leather pants just a few feet away from him.

Sam heads for the fridge and that’s all the attention Bucky is able to pay him anyways because his eyes are drawn right back to the amazing vision that is Tony’s leather-clad ass and Bucky’s throat dries up all over again and it’s a good thing he’s standing still because tripping over thin air _twice_ in a matter of minutes would get his assassin card revoked for sure. The Black Widow would deliver the pink slip herself.

Tony chooses that moment to turn around and his eyes land on Bucky and that’s when Bucky remembers he should probably look this—amazing, honorable, selfless—man in the eye instead of ogling the way those leather pants cradle his ass. 

The way a national treasure _deserves_ to be cradled and Bucky has never thought he’d be so jealous of a pair of pants.

“Hi, Buckaroo, good morning! Sam, nice to see you,” Tony chirps at them both, full of good cheer and surprisingly awake for this early in the morning on a Friday and Bucky has to wonder if Tony actually got a good night’s sleep for once or if this is just the post-work-binge delirium setting in. In the end, it doesn’t matter. Tony is standing there, framed by the early morning sun, and he’s smiling, at _Bucky_ , which never fails to overwhelm Bucky with affection and love and all sorts of _urges_ and now both the bruised elbow and the eternal mortification are all but forgotten, drowned out by the bright light of Tony’s gorgeous smile.

“Hi, Tony,” he says, sounding perfectly _normal_ (and not at all out of breath and maybe a little bit awed). Out of the corner of his eye, he can still see Sam giving him that _look_ and Bucky has to resist the urge to flip him off. His energy is better spent looking at the man of his dreams and his— _eyes, Bucky, eyes, look at his pretty eyes instead of his ass._

All of his honorable intentions are thrown out of the window however when Tony plants his hands on his hips and twists his body to literally _wiggle_ his butt in Bucky’s direction.

Bucky’s experienced lightheadedness from blood loss before, but never quite like this.

“What do you guys think of the pants? Pretty stylish, huh?” Tony is oblivious to Bucky’s severe blood flow dilemmas; he’s grinning good-naturedly at both Bucky and Sam. “Pepper got them for me for my birthday. They’re surprisingly comfy.”

“Yeah, Tony, you look… just great,” Sam remarks while he carries his milk, cereal, and bowl to the counter, and his tone is so _flat_ that Bucky feels he should be offended on Tony’s behalf.

That ass isn’t just ‘great’, it’s glorious and breathtaking and made all the more magical by the black leather clinging to it like a miracle of human ingenuity and frankly Bucky can never see that ass the same way again—but he supposes Sam _appreciating_ Tony the way he deserves to be appreciated would’ve been even worse. The green of jealousy is not a pretty color on Bucky, or so he’s told every time he growls and glares at anyone getting too handsy with Tony.

Tony gives Sam a pleased nod, but then Sam just proceeds to ignore him in favor of pouring cereal into his bowl and Tony diverts his attention back to Bucky—which is where Bucky likes Tony’s attention to be, so he can hardly complain, but it’s getting hard to breathe again, what with those big, brown eyes so open and curious and making Bucky their sole focus and this right here, this is the complicated thing about being in love with Tony.

He’s so breathtakingly gorgeous and so damn enticing and so wonderful and smart and amazing and every perfect part of him makes it _so hard_ to remain a gentleman and do things the right way, to take things slow and to woo Tony properly because Tony deserves to be treated like the best treasure this world has to offer—

“What do you think, Snowflake? Are the pants okay?” Tony gives another wiggle to showcase said pants and Bucky is _dying_ inside.

He’s survived seven decades of Hydra, but he doesn’t think he’ll survive Tony Stark.

He wonders if that particular sway of the hips is even _legal_ and he is powerless, unable to do anything but drink in those sinuous movements, all rational thoughts fizzling out into static because all he can think about is getting his hands on Tony’s—well, Tony’s _everything_ , up to and including his heart and soul, but Bucky would really, really like to begin his hands-on explorations with that perfectly round butt.

He wants to tell Tony all these things, how much Bucky thinks about him, how much he likes him, how good Tony looks in _anything_ he wears, how awe-inspiring he is in everything that he does, how funny and charming and selfless he is—

“Yeah, uh, they’re— they’re nice,” is what Bucky says instead, in some awkward, uninspired tone that could not _possibly_ belong to him and where the hell is that charm everyone claims Bucky Barnes is supposed to have?

He doesn’t need Sam’s eye roll and that silent “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” being mouthed at him over Tony’s shoulder because he can see for himself how Tony’s expression falls and that smile grows dimmer.

“Oh. Um, thanks, I guess.”

Bucky wants to sink through the floor and make a home somewhere deep in the Earth’s crust.

“I— gotta go. Bye,” he yelps, but internally he is screaming in mortification and he nearly trips again as he turns around to bolt out of the kitchen and make his shameful escape.

He pretends not to hear Tony’s dejected “Oh no, is he okay? Was it something I said?” and Sam’s answering, “No, I think he was just born a dumbass.”

* * *

Tony flops onto Rhodey’s couch with a dramatic _oomph_ only reserved for days such as these. He tries not to ruin his theatrical entrance by making the pained squeak that he wants to make, but _good god_ , these damn pants are squeezing him in all the wrong places.

“Rhodey, my sunshine, my sugar plum,” he whines, smooshing his face into the pillow so he doesn’t have to see his best friend’s annoyed glare. “I give up. I’ve tried everything. For god’s sake, what does it take to get that man to jump my bones?”

He sneaks a glance and—yup, there’s that annoyed face that tries to proclaim ‘Tony, please, I’m an adult with a lot of very important work.’

Well, too bad. Tony is sad and pouty and _frustrated_ and there is currently leather in places no leather should ever be.

“Can this wait? I know Barnes hangs all the stars and the moons where you’re from, but I do have the Vice President on hold here, just so you know.”

“The politics must wait, Honey Bear, I have an actual dilemma! An emergency! A _crisis_! I mean, I’m just trying to seduce one man here, this shouldn’t be so hard!”

“Mm-hmm, of course not.”

“And I was so sure the leather pants would work too! Just look at them!” Tony lifts his hips up a little and wiggles and Rhodey groans and shields his face like he’s being blinded by the damn sun.

“Tony, please, I’ve seen enough of your naked ass in college to last me a lifetime. Control yourself and stop assaulting my couch.”

“Do you know how tight these pants are? The lengths I had to go to put them on this morning?” There are parts of Tony being _smothered_ right now, parts he really enjoys and want to keep functional, thank you very much. “Hell, I’m not even sure I can get them off now. You might have to bury me in these damn things. And after all this trouble, all this _effort_ , do you know what I get? Do you? I just get a ‘oh, uh, they’re nice’. I mean, _really_?”

“My sincerest condolences, Tony, truly.”

“Rhodey, my ass is not just ‘nice’, okay? My ass deserves better than that.”

Rhodey looks torn, probably debating whether dragging Tony out of his office by the scruff of his neck is worth going anywhere near Tony and his questionable choices in pantwear. 

So much effort, _unappreciated_. Tony has half a heart to ban Bucky from the workshop for a week, but he likes the damn idiot too much to do that.

But maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he’s read this all wrong and his feelings just aren’t as reciprocated as he initially thought.

“What if he just doesn’t want me, Rhodey?” he whines dejectedly and sure, he sounds ridiculous, but this is just _so_ _sad_ and Rhodey shouldn’t judge him, not when the world isn’t fair and Bucky isn’t peeling Tony out of these pants and blood isn’t reaching places that really need blood at this point.

Rhodey just sighs. It’s the sort of sigh that says a thousand words with one sound and all those words lament Rhodey’s fate and all his terrible life choices because instead of chatting up the Vice President, he’s sitting here with Tony. He’s sitting and he’s watching, with a resignation so soul-deep and hopeless, as Tony wriggles around to get more comfortable and ends up sliding halfway off the couch just so he can stretch out his legs and get some feeling back in his limbs.

“Trust me, Tones,” Rhodey says, smartly making no comment on Tony’s failed attempt to sit up like a normal human being, “Barnes wants you. That part stopped being a question long ago. Put the two of you in a room together and suddenly he forgets the rest of us exist because he’s too busy watching your every move like it’s the second coming or something.”

Tony pouts with a fierce determination. “Maybe he’s just planning an elaborate and drawn-out assassination attempt, did you ever think of that? What if he’s just looking for the best place to stab me?” At this point, Bucky _will_ kill him, with the sheer lack of attention to Tony’s plentiful assets if nothing else.

“Here’s the thing,” Rhodey leans back in his chair, invested now, and Tony wants to laugh because people always end up getting invested in the drama. It’s how they all cope with the work stress. “You and Barnes, you’re perfect for each other. Loyal, considerate, loving, and so goddamn _stupid_ —”

“Hey!”

“—not to mention oblivious that— well, if you look up ‘oblivious’ in the dictionary, they won’t have your picture in there because they haven’t come up with a word for your level of oblivious yet. And that’s the thing. If you want results, you can’t be subtle about this.”

“Okay, in my defense,” Tony says and rubs his thighs, the leather squeaking under his hands, “there is nothing subtle about these pants.”

“Yeah, well, that might be true when you’re dealing with normal people, but when it comes to you two? No, you can’t hold back, you gotta go for broke. Get ‘I love Barnes’ tattooed on your forehead—or his forehead, it doesn’t matter—rent out a billboard, sky writing, I dunno, doesn’t matter. You gotta spell it out for him.”

The gears in Tony’s mind start to turn. “Hmm, I guess that does kinda make sense.”

Rhodey usually isn’t wrong about these things and truthfully, Tony does miss things occasionally, at least when it comes to the squishy, emotional things. After all, for the first couple months of Bucky’s residence at the Compound, Tony was convinced he was going to be taken out in his sleep by an angry Winter Soldier. Turned out, the murder glare was just Bucky’s unique way of looking at people he _liked_ and that whole time he was just trying to find a way to _talk_ to Tony.

So, okay, maybe they’re both a bit of a disaster and if Tony has to go with something even less subtle than a pair of pants two sizes too small to communicate to Bucky that he wants him and he wants him _now_ , then he’s game.

He jumps to his feet and lets out a startled whine when the leather rides up against his crotch and there’s nothing to grab onto to peel the damn fabric away because the leather has officially _fused_ into all of his nooks and crannies and there is no escape.

Oh, the thing he’s willing to do for love.

“I have an idea,” Tony announces and waddles out of the room like a damn duck because taking normal steps is for people with working joints and the ability to bend their legs.

Behind him, Rhodey sighs again and asks JARVIS to finally put the Vice President through.

* * *

Tony checks with JARVIS first to make sure Bucky’s around—and he is, over in the kitchen again because the Avengers are like small, easily spooked animals that need to congregate in groups anywhere there is food, water, and warmth—and when Tony gets there, he marches right in—well, _tries_ to march—and heads straight for Bucky.

Bucky notices him right away, because of course he does, there’s no use sneaking up on anyone around here, but it’s obvious he doesn’t expect Tony to get into his space, to step right in between his knees and tower over him because Bucky is sitting down and for once Tony is actually taller.

Bucky squeaks adorably when Tony takes his face into his hands and tilts it to look up at Tony.

“Hi, Snowflake.”

Bucky lets out another confused noise. “Hi?”

“Here’s the deal. These pants I’m wearing, they’re not actually comfortable. No, they are so damn _tight_ that I don’t think I can physically get them off by myself.” Satisfied that he has Bucky’s attention, Tony lets go of his face, grabs both of Bucky’s hands, and plants them squarely on his leather-clad ass. “So help me. Take off. My pants. _Now._ ”

Tony ignores Steve choking on his salad on the other side of the kitchen. No, Tony only has eyes for Bucky and this close, he gets to see Bucky go momentarily pale before his cheeks turn an enticing, bright red.

“Unless you don’t want to,” Tony purposefully begins to pull away, “because—”

“No, no,” Bucky chokes out and his grip on Tony’s ass is suddenly that much tighter. “I want to,” he adds, but he still looks vaguely terrified.

“Is that so?”

Bucky convulsively swallows, nods, and his hands twitch on Tony’s behind. “Yes, please.”

“Yeah? Because I _really_ want you to take them off for me too. Right now. Preferably while making out with me. On a bed. But you gotta hurry, because I’m losing blood flow here and I _will_ ask Steve next if you don’t—”

Tony never gets the chance to finish that frankly _absurd_ threat because his world flips upside down as he’s lifted up like he weighs _nothing_ and hefted over Bucky’s shoulder—and why is that such a damn turn-on? There’s one possessive palm splayed over Tony’s behind while the rest of Bucky is murder strutting out of the kitchen, in what Tony hopes is the direction of his bedroom.

Or any bedroom, really, he’s not picky.

* * *

Steve watches Tony wink at him and mouth a triumphant “Finally!” before Bucky disappears around the corner with his leather-clad soon-to-be-boyfriend. 

He looks down at his bowl of salad. Yeah, he’s not gonna be able to enjoy that now.

Sam walks in a moment later, head pivoted to stare down the hallway, presumably at the Winter Soldier carrying Iron Man away to parts unknown.

Sam’s eyes narrow at first, then trail over to meet Steve’s.

Steve looks at him and just sighs before he begins putting away his salad. “You think this is what Fury had in mind when he created the Avengers?”

Sam only hums and never actually answers as he comes over and helps Steve rummage through the cupboard to find the right lid for his bowl.

* * *

Tony and Bucky do make it to an actual bedroom—Bucky’s bedroom, luckily for everyone else at the Compound—and Tony gets tossed onto the bed like a heroine in a romance novel, all ready to be ravished by his handsome beau, and then they are kissing and touching and everything is _fantastic_. 

Right until Bucky reaches for Tony’s pants and they realize getting Tony out of them is _actually_ impossible and both of them begin the struggle of trying to tug Tony out of the damn things. Neither is very good at it because Tony keeps getting distracted by the adorable way Bucky blushes and how he keeps swearing in muttered Russian because his hands can’t get a grip on the damn leather and _Bucky_ keeps getting distracted by Tony’s fits of giggles and all the wriggling he is doing in an effort to free himself and everything is a delirious mess and nothing is working and somehow it is _still_ fantastic.

They’re around the five-minute mark when Bucky just gives up altogether and reaches for one of his knives and while there are casualties that day, Tony is willing to accept the demise of his leather pants in exchange for unobstructed blood flow to the lower half of his body and Bucky’s big, lovely hands on his now very bare behind.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Moodboard for A National Treasure](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21651085) by [dls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dls/pseuds/dls)




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